Cobble Hill on a Wednesday in April

The air that night was cool and spurious flusters of cold wind blew dotted mist across Lillie’s wincing yet smiling face like so many weightless specs of sugar. Her jacket possessed of hood and zipper but neither were considered. Her soul was hearty and beaming and her blood boiling with reverence for the act of sensation, and because the air that night was cool its flusters only galvanized her awe and appreciation the more they triumphed over the unpleasantness of circumstance.